


Faintly

by overlordy



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Angst, Blood, Death, Drabble, Drifter uses they/them pronouns, Endgame, Gen, Nonbinary Drifter, Spoilers, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8033254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overlordy/pseuds/overlordy
Summary: There is no cure.





	Faintly

**Author's Note:**

> drabble about the ending of hyper light drifter. i may or may not still be very emotional over it

_There is no cure_.

They reach this conclusion lying spread eagle on the cold stone floor, jostled by the shaking and rumbling of the earth as it all comes crashing down around them. A ringing starts in their ears, fluid creeps up their throat and with violent hacking convulsions they cough up puddles of their own blood. It splashes down and mingles with the toxic pink life of the Immortal Cell.

Pained, they push themself up with shaking arms and a shaking spirit, grasping desperate at the last threads of hope dangling in their face. They stumble, slip in their own blood, but finally they stand. They wobble, head spinning with sickness and realization.

They aren’t making it out alive.

Frantic coughs choke out of their throat. Before, death had no meaning- it was impermanent, skewed by the intervention of a higher power. They would fall- blasted through the chest, sliced in two, burned alive, crushed into nothing, torn asunder-

-but they would always come back. Alive. Angry. They threw themself into danger with blazing stubbornness and determination, always hungry to prove themself- but to who? To what? Their mad push to save themself and countless lives impressed no one.

They know their luck has run out.

They trip and stumble to the doorway, lips sticky with tangy, metallic blood. They pull down their cowl when it becomes too soaked to breathe through. They gasp, the stale underground air poisons them, and they hunch over as wave after wave of pain lances through them, unseen claws rending their insides. Blood pours through their nose, through their pain-slackened lips, stains their blue skin magenta and leaves a trail on the floor. They push on despite their blurred vision and trembling hands, fear and blood loss dragging their movements down until each step is torture.

A dark shape waits for them. They recognize its pointed ears and pointed snout and enigmatic purpose. It led them to this gruesome fate- tucked away, nameless, forgotten, staring death in the face.

They don’t want to die.

With no other purpose before them, they grit their teeth and follow it. Such actions led them to ruin in the past- they suspect this time would be no different. They slip along the bridge, tripping on cracks and crumbled rocks, narrowly avoiding an earlier, quicker death from falling pieces of earth. They watch the smooth, agile shape of The Jackal, dragging them along, keeping its purposes to itself.

The harsh, artificial light of the Cell fades into an impenetrable darkness. All sound disappears, except for the single, echoing ring, fading in and out like static. Head spinning with delirium, Drifter gasps for breath, wonders if death chose now to finally take them away.

They feel stones beneath their feet. They catch the faint, tangy scent of grass and the salt of the sea. The trees whisper in mourning as wind travels through their branches. They feel warm- pleasantly warm- yet somehow… cold.

Flames flicker before them, casting jovial shadows about their modest campsite. They sigh as the poisonous taste of blood disappears, as the outside heals them, takes away the pain in their lungs and their heart.

Exhausted by their trials, they trip through the grass and lean up against the smooth surface of the statue, warmed by the crackling fire, an ancient relic of the past. They ponder its origins. Through heavy-lidded eyes they watch the Jackal sit.

Rest. Just for… a moment. They need a moment of respite after everything they suffered through. They close their eyes and slump to the floor, slow their breathing, fall lax under the distant rumble of thunder, the crash of waves against a rocky shore.

They see the ocean. They see the sun. They see an endless stretch of mountains, gray and misty and peaceful.

A vibrant stain of pink appears on their abdomen. For a moment it frightens them, but it doesn’t hurt. Nothing has to hurt anymore.

They can rest now.

They can...


End file.
